Dining Table

I love that each room of my house claims a special purpose.

Often, I will pour a glass of wine and go into the sitting room to take in the quiet and the perspective that I find there. Other rooms are more functional, like the guest bedroom, which is used when my sweet Jason snores. Or, the office to conduct my family business, write this blog, print pictures, etc. Then, there is the dining room. For years, the dining room and its table and chairs have been used, well, for dining or "buffeting"(no, it's not a word, but it should be).

I have hosted intimate dinners for two and parties for 40+ using that room as a usual suspect. But, lately, it has been transformed into something much different by my little Emerson's imagination and her constant drive to laugh and play.

We were all taking it easy last Saturday, and I think Emerson was a bit restless. At one point, I couldn't see where she was, and I couldn't hear her either, which always means one of two things: one, she is hiding and knows to be still and quiet until I find her; or two, she is doing something she knows she shouldn't and is being still and quiet until I find her. In this case she was hiding, under the dining table.

She loves this "game", and I adore it as well because, once found, she becomes a twinkly-eyed, toddler full of smiles and giggles. Most importantly, she becomes the master of her "fort" in which I am a mere pawn.

Where Emerson can squeeze between chairs and table legs, I can not, so I start by making the game more fair by pulling the chairs back from the table. Then the chase around, under, and between the chairs and table begin, lasting for 15 or 20 minutes and always ending with my laying under the table with her on top of me, both of us in a state of panting and laughter. She is always the first to get up, running away to find her next adventure, and I usually follow her.

This day was different. This day, she left while I remained on the floor under the dining room table, looking up at the construction of it. I began to recall the many times I have detached and replaced the table's leaves. I remembered the food and conversations that this table has held. I smiled thinking of all of the celebrations, and even the many moves this table has made with me. It has certainly served its purpose.

But I couldn't help but think that after nearly ten years of sturdy and predictable work, the best purpose it had served was providing my daughter and me a fort under which we could simply play. No table clothes, or centerpieces, no buffets, or china. Just Emerson and me, still in our pjs at 1:00 in the afternoon, giggling together in our fort like the entire world was ours. And it was.

'Home' Is The Nicest Word There Is

There are two known truths about me. Well, maybe more, but there are two about which I feel inclined to write. One, I love the show Little House on the Prairie. And two, I love the holidays. It was just recently that I thought about why these two seemingly unrelated things seem to strike the same chord in my heart.

The main character on LHP, Laura, who is affectionately referred to as "Half-Pint" by her Pa, is a small but tough-minded little girl, who narrates the earlier shows by reading from her journal, her "remembrance book" she started when the family moved from their home in the "big woods." I was always fascinated with how warm and loving the family members were to one another. At the end of the day, no matter what journey or hardship was endured, everyone was home in that little house, around the fire or the kitchen table, sharing a meal and a story of the day's events. Call me old-fashioned, but that just sounds nice to me.

Of course, any episode surrounding the holidays, tugged at my heart even more. I think I have seen the original Christmas episode, well, I literally couldn't count and there is no use trying. Every time though, I cry at the same points in the show. I know they're coming; I tell myself not to; but I just can't keep the tears tucked away when Laura smiles her toothy grin as Mr. Edwards gives her Ma a half dozen sweet potatoes for Christmas. "What a treat," Ma gushes while she chokes back a cry. Call me crazy, but wouldn't it be nice if we could all get excited about someone giving us something as simple as sweet potatoes?

Seriously, the things we take for granted. And that is why I love the holidays. For a few months out of the year, everyone has her priorities straight. Every one's heart is in the right place. We all go home, whether that be with family or friends who we consider family, and we cherish each other, our traditions, our homes.

My holiday traditions start on Labor Day weekend with all of the Fall decorations adorning the doors, tables, mantel and other corners of my house. You won't come over to my home without feeling invited in by the scent of simmering mulling spices.

This year has already been a fantastic Fall because Emerson is old enough to know what is happening and to communicate with me. She loves pumpkins, and boy, do we have enough around the house to make her day. Ask her, "where is the pumpkin," and she will point to every pumpkin in the house; needless to say, it takes a while. Last week, when she was walking around the house showing me the pumpkins, I just had to smile, and well, maybe a little tear came to my eye too. I realized that my love for the holidays and bringing the warmth of them into our home was rubbing off on her in its own little way, and I heard Half-Pint's voice say, "home is the nicest word there is."

Amen.

H-O-T

Being a Mom is so many things.
Two nights ago, it was rewarding.
Emerson has said a dozen or so words now.
I may hear a word like, "apple" a few times and then not hear her say it for weeks.
That's OK by me; apparently, this is a normal learning pattern.
The other night though, Jason got to hear her say a new word.
I was cooking dinner, and like most nights, Emerson got very curious about what I was doing in the kitchen. She walked to me and threw her arms up in the air. I obliged.
While I was holding her with one one arm and stirring the dish with another, I thought to myself that this was a great opportunity to teach her someting new. So, I pointed to the stove and said, "hot." I repeated it several times and said, "Emerson, when Mommy is cooking on the stove it is hot." She looked at me and said...you guessed it, "hot."
Jason looked up from watching the game on TV and smiled at me.
Hot was the word of the night from then on!

It is a quiet day.
Jason is on his way home from hunting.
Emerson is with my parents so that Jason and I can go to a going-away party this evening.

It's just me today.
I ran some errands and then decided to use my alone time to see the movie, Nanny Diaries. I read the book years ago and the movie was as cute as the book.

Alone time is rare time now-a-days, and while I often think about having more of it, I am thankful that I don't.
Have you ever been putting a puzzle together and found that you are missing a few of its pieces? Looking at it, you can see what the whole is like, but it's still impossible to appreciate because those few pieces are missing? That is what alone time is like now. The first few hours are great, but slowly, I realize that there are valuable pieces missing and that everything is not quite whole. It is a good thing to realize that your heart is dependant on someone else.

Love this quote

"With every deed you are sowing a seed, though the harvest you may not see."
-Ella Wheeler Wilcox

My Little Rose

My sweet Emerson turned 12 months on July 17.
Her birthday party was a good one---all of the usuals--party dress, good food, great people, cameras snapping, presents, and the ultimate "Happy Birthday" song (which we had to sing twice, per request of the grandmas who thought Emerson was "so cute" when everyone was singing to her). And of course, we had the adorable cupcake-wearing one-year-old. She may be little, but that girl can eat cake! Jason and I invited family and a couple of very close friends who, for one reason or another, we consider family.

My friend, Stacy, who is definitely a soul sister, came up from Austin with her husband, Stephen. She and I were able to spend some time chatting on Saturday morning. We were discussing the pros and cons of "staying at home" with your children.

Allow me to briefly stand on my soapbox here... I will refrain from explaining why the term "stay at home" itself makes me laugh...it would take too long to explain, and well, you can probably guess why it tickles me. I will say this though: the last time (yes, I'ved been asked more than once in a rude way) a working Mom asked me "what do you do all day long," I told her, "I do all of the things you are paying someone else to do for your child, except that I don't get paid." The point?...Staying at home is a job...people get paid to do it. Let's support each other, ladies and gentlemen! Ask me a passive-agressive question, and I'll give you a direct answer. Why go there with each other anyway?

Anyhow, Stacy and my conversation started because I was telling her that I couldn't believe how quickly a year had passed and that each passing month with Emerson was better than the last. I relayed to her that someone told me that I needed to "stop and smell the roses." I found the person's comment funny. I told Stacy that being a "stay at home" Mom has allowed me to not only smell the roses; but in fact, plant, water, groom, fertilize and watch the roses grow in the direction in which I am grooming them. The smell, well, the smell is simply divine and lingers on me most days. And still, the time slips through my fingers.

The reality is that people spend too much time worrying and judging. Children turn out OK whether you put them in daycare or not; everything evens out in the end. You have to do what is best for your family's journey. Stacy agreed and then went on to say that she doesn't worry about what her children will miss by being at home or not, more what she will miss of her children if she works outside the home.

And she nailed it with that comment. In the end, my sweet Emerson will learn to read and write. She'll fall in love and have her heart broken a half dozen times until she finds the "right" one. She'll try her hand at different sports and activities. She'll do all of the things kids do. And through it all, she'll know that Jason and I love her. But, I imagine that at the end of her childhood, she'll hardly remember the days that I stayed home with her during her infant and toddler years, but I will remember. I will remember that I saw her smile for the very first time. I will remember that I taught her to sit and stand and that when you ask her where her mouth is she points to her mouth and smiles. I will remember that it was me who watched her taste oatmeal for the first time. I will remember that I taught her to "turn the page" of her books by herself. I will remember that she giggles all day long, loves to pet her dog and play with her cats' tails. I will remember that when she sees that the gate is open, she makes a bee-line for the stairs because she loves to climb them. I will also remember that she already knows she is not supposed to climb the stairs, as she always looks back at me to see if I am watching her. I will remember the first tantrum she had when I first taught her the word, "no." And I will remember that she follows that first rule already. I will remember that the other day I asked her if I could have one of her blueberries and she shook her head "no" at me. I will remember.

And that is why it is so easy for me to give up an outside job...it's not just Emerson's journey that I am on here, it's my journey...a journey that I enjoy being free of complications and full of memories of new experiences and challenges with this smart, little person. I am thankful that I have the choice to be with her during the day. I am thankful that when Jason gets home at night he is happy to hear from me what she learned and what new tricks are up her little sleeve. I'll never take it for granted. I could smell a million roses, and I would never take the sweet smell for granted. It's been a glorious year.

A Thousand Splendid Suns

I am possessed by the book, A Thousand Splendid Suns by Khaled Hosseini (His first novel The Kite Runner, was equally good). In this novel, Hosseini unveils the lives of two women spanning three decades in Afghanistan, from the late 70s to a few years ago. Hosseini is believable, as he himself escaped the country and fled to the United States. He is so believable that I feel a need to start learning the history of that region. I have grown tired of the media's version.

His depictions dropped me to my knees. I tried to put the book down last night to sleep but could not and read until I finished this morning at 1:00 a.m. My face was buried in my hands, tears streaming down my face for the character, Laila, who at one point has to give her daughter, Aziza, to an orphanage to keep her from starving at home. Food is reserved for the boys, afterall. Laila is beaten in the streets by the Taliban during her daily attempts to go visit her. Why is she beaten? Because women were not allowed to walk on the streets without being escorted by a male family member.

My heart ached so much that I picked Emerson out of bed and held her to me, whispering prayers in her ear and in Gods asking that she and I never experience the suffering that so many other women face in different nations, and probably our own if I was to investigate further.

Even after watching friends and family die; being beaten and whipped by her husband; and having her rights stolen from her, Laila looks at the city of Kabul and loves it...

..."One could not count the moons that shimmer on her roofs.
Or the thousand splendid suns that hide behind her walls."


Read this book. Get fired up. C

God's Will

A few weeks ago at church, our minister talked of "God's Will." He readily admitted that sometimes God's Will is hard to find, and can be equally difficult to understand, when you do find it. There was one message that struck a chord with me. He said you can tell you are doing God's will when you find you are immersed in doing things that you never imagined yourself doing, and doing them with joy.

Emerson and I invited my Dad (Papa to Emerson) to a Father's Day lunch last week. Dad asked me what I have been doing lately. I found myself describing my Vacation Bible School experience; planting flowers; readying for pending parties, reading a new book; working on a few home improvement projects; and of course, playing with and teaching Emerson. He looked up and smiled at me and said, "that's very domestic of you. "
A few years ago, no one who knows me would have described my daily routine as "domestic."
Who would of thought? And then I knew who...God.

Thanking God for knowing more than me, C

Zero at the Bone

When I was little, my Mom would assign me the chore of picking weeds so that I could earn my own spending money. I never understood why it was so important to her to have her gardens be weed-free. I understand now, and absolutely find solice in spending an hour or so, weeding the beds and clipping the undesirables. Today, I lifted a branch from the flowers' bed and was pleasantly startled by what I found there. Immediately, I smiled and began reciting one of my favorite poems by my favorite poet, Emily Dickinson. Read on...can you guess what I found in the garden? C

A narrow Fellow in the Grass
Occasionally rides
You may have met Him, did you not
His notice sudden is
The Grass divides as with a Comb
A spotted shaft is seen
And then it closes at your feet
And opens further on
He likes a Boggy Acre
A Floor too cool for Corn
Yet when a Boy, and Barefoot
I more than once at Noon
Have passed, I thought, a Whip lash
Unbraiding in the Sun
When stooping to secure it
It wrinkled, and was gone
Several of Nature's People
I know, and they know me
I feel for them a transport
Of cordiality
But never met this Fellow
Attended, or alone
Without a tighter breathing
And Zero at the Bone

Dynamite

Jason and I returned from our vacation in Nevis, West Indies, two weeks ago. We had such a thrilling time. Emerson took her vacation with Nana and Grandpa Gross.

I must admit, and am honored to do so, that I have become one of "those" parents. You know the ones I mean...the mom, when asked about the status of her baby, gushes about her baby, brings out the "brag" book, etc. What I have noticed now, is that we run in circles in which everyone has children. So, no one seems to mind listening, as long as each gets their turn at it . And my perspective for the no-children folks is the same. I was one, so I know freedom is great, but now I also know a secret. For me, the secret is that freedom has its privelages and its price. The price is not having a heart that feels like it will burst at the thought of my daughter, my other little partner. So, while I always love my alone time with Jason, I equally love missing the "Tiny Tushka." (I nicknamed her that months ago because her hiny is so tiny!)

Any way, while on the trip, Jason and I, among other things, went deep sea fishing. As soon as we got far enough out and dropped lines, we hooked a fish, and I was the first to reel in, so after being hooked into the seat, I began reeling, and reeling, and thinking...wow, this is a great bicep workout. I reeled for about 20 minutes, and landed my first fish, a 25 pound Mahi Mahi. It was exhilirating. And Jason caught a Berracuda, which I learned has GIANT teeth (you can't tell in the below pics)!

What's good about the story for me is the lesson I re-learned. Everyone on the boat was yelling my name, encouraging me along, and making comments about my size and committment to reeling in the fish. I said, "hey, my motto for life, is 'dynamite comes in small packages.'" Size doesn't matter. That's the truth, a truth that I am teaching the Tiny Tushka.

Feeling strong, Carol

Eat more apples!

I think I need to begin eating an apple a day, as I have never been as sick as often as I have since Emerson was born. Everytime she gets sick, I get sick. We're two sad little women sometimes!

Last week we both had ear and sinus infections. It was so bad that I couldn't smell or taste for five days. It was terrible not tasting food, but I discovered something even more terrible than not smelling food...not smelling Emerson. I hadn't realized how much I love her smell. Then finally last Thursday, when I picked her up and kissed her head, I smelled my little Emerson's sweet scent. It was the best. C

Woman

So, I have started and stopped this new blog for 9 months now.
About a month after Emerson was born, I wrote my last entry on my
"Baby P and Me" blog http://babypiering.blogspot.com. However, I didn't publish it until about two months ago. I am not sure why except that maybe I enjoyed the first few months with my own quiet thoughts.

But something in me has changed. I come across, at minimum once a day now, something inspiring me to "write it down." And thus, I have transitioned my blog from "Baby P. and Me" to "Mommy Tales."





This entry is about how I feel as a woman now that life's journey has changed.

I feel different. I care about different things. I read different things. I watch things and people differently. My heart feels things differently than before. I feel more empowered about LIFE than I ever felt climbing the corporate ladder. I make no money, and I am richer than I have ever been.

My life is as scheduled as always, some things never change, but now it's about how and what I want to schedule. Time is fleeting. We must spend it with the ones we love doing what we love.
For me, right now, while I am blessed with time, I love to "smell the roses" with my family...
I love to change Emerson's diaper and watch her grab her feet.
I love to see her crawl towards Jaxx and climb up on his belly to feel his soft fur...wouldn't you, had you never felt fur before?
I love that she is little and strong.
I love to watch her concentrate on pulling herself up.
I love that when I walk into her room to get her from her nap, she is standing, peaking at me over the bars with her adorable grin on her face.
I love that when I say, "come here, Emerson," she smiles and crawls to me, and uses my pants to pull herself up.
I love that when she wants to be held, she throws her arms in the air to me and smiles.
I love to watch her expressions as she tastes new food.
I love that she squeals and smiles when she sees her Daddy walk in the door at the end of the day.
I love that she has a Daddy that loves her as much as mine loves me, as their relationship will be one of the most important.
I love that I smile and laugh more than I have ever in my entire life.
I love that I have time to workout during the day.
I love that I have time to volunteer at church and that I have time to join the JLP with all of its service opportunities.
I love that I have time to learn new things. I learned to knit!
I love that I have learned that it's fun to just watch Emerson play.
All of these things are different than before. And I love it. I feel more like a woman than I ever have.
-C